


House Arrest

by awrenawry



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Sex, Introspection, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awrenawry/pseuds/awrenawry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I snorted. "I don't need your pity."</p><p>There was enough moonlight to catch his teeth as he smiled. His eyes were open, now. "You don't have it," he whispered.</p><p>Oh. So that's where this was headed.</p><p>Interesting, although perhaps not surprising. There was still that tightness behind his eyes. His captain was dead. There was no telling what he would do.</p><p>I didn't think he'd kill me after, though. That was a plus over Lucci.</p><p>(Spoiler Alert: Luffy isn't really dead, guys.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	House Arrest

We stood six paces apart on a completely unmemorable pier on a completely unmemorable island, on a distant part of the Line I wouldn't have said could harbor anyone capable of sending straw-hat Luffy to the bottom of the ocean. Seagulls cried overhead. Their shadows crossed and recrossed on the beams of the decking beneath us.

Yet here we were. The news had come in a week before and set the whole town ablaze with gossip. I hadn't believed it, but my sources had agreed and here sat Roronoa Zoro, alone, draped over a chair and drunker than I'd ever seen a man before.

I asked what had happened, my curiosity getting the better of me like so many times before. "The captain always goes down with the ship." He said the words with a little sneer--like I was an idiot; like I didn't know that.

They'd told me this was a kinder, gentler government. I began to doubt that, then, when none of the dozen Marines cowering behind me did him the kindness of putting a bullet in his brain.

He'd passed out in a tavern. The terrified barkeep, anxious to close up for the night but unwilling to disturb the fearsome killer, had dragged the chair and the rug under it out of his establishment onto the dock, locked and barred the door, then gone running to the garrison to ask the Marines for his reward. He was an idiot who would have deserved whatever Roronoa gave him. Luckily for the barkeep--unfortunately for me--this unmemorable little island was _my_ island.

"Roronoa Zoro, I hereby place you under arrest." It was customary to list out a suspect's crimes, but we didn't have that kind of time.

I'd have killed him myself--or tried to--if he wasn't so damn drunk. It wouldn't have been a fair fight; even though I knew it was still likely I'd lose.

I'd seen that shadowed look in a man's eyes before, and it wasn't something I'd wish on anyone--even him. That look said he had nothing left to live for and he knew it. I knew what those shadows looked like from the inside and I'd gotten this view of it reflected back at me in Garp's eyes as he pulled me out of the rubble of Ennies Lobby. I'd seen it once before that, too, in the eyes of an orphan whose name even I didn't remember, when Cipher Pol came sniffing around for promising kids no one would miss. It wasn't fair to ask a man to live like that.

But I'd said yes. I'd gotten back up. And here I was, still kicking as hard as I could. Maybe Roronoa could do the same.

He squinted at me blearily. I hoped some of that had gotten through.

"Giraffe-guy?"

No, I decided; it probably hadn't.

"Come on then." I closed the distance between us, holding out my hand. "Get up."

To my surprise, he did.

His hand was strong and warm and he had sword calluses just where I'd once had sword calluses and I knew it would be both unprofessional and unwise to dwell on those simple facts. I drew back my hand when he stood upright and seemed like he was going to stay that way.

I looked him over. His clothes were dirty, but that was nothing unusual. Blood stained one corner of his worn haramaki, at just the angle where a flick to clean the blade before sheathing it would catch the bearer. I wondered who he'd killed on the way over. The soles of his scuffed boots were worn a touch unevenly from the way the weight of his swords dragged at his gait. It would have made him easy to track, if I'd needed that to track him. But I was a zoan. The scent of him filled my nostrils: sweat, vomit, despair, blood. Easy enough to follow.

The Marines behind me retreated to the end of the dock when he stood. They trembled, and they didn't know the half of what he was capable of. I turned and walked away, casting over my shoulder to him, "This way." He'd figure out he was under arrest sooner or later.

He shrugged and followed.

I hadn't had someone so powerful at my back since Lucci. It made my skin itch.

I strode back to the governor's manor while the gaggle of Marines followed at what they considered to be a safe distance. The rest of the pier was crowded. That one stretch had been given over to the swordsman, but the necessities of life flowed on around us. Workers froze as we strolled by. Roronoa seemed oblivious to it. Or maybe he was just used to it.

The manor rose above us on the walk. The footmen--braver than the Marines, it appeared--held the gates open for our arrival. Roronoa lifted an eyebrow. I could feel it curl the hairs at the back of my neck. I led us through the ground floor and out to the back of the house, where a shaded patio overlooked the gardens.

We sat, and the servants brought tea. It was a fine spring morning.

"You've come up in the world." He said, once the servants had withdrawn.

"I've been put out to pasture," I said, surprising even myself with the bitterness in my voice. He had the decency not to say anything about it, but I saw his gaze flicker down to the curled fabric where my jacket sleeve was pinned just below the right elbow.

"Given the company you keep," Roronoa said, "you're lucky you weren't put down." He looked at the tea, but didn't drink it. I thought he'd already made an impressive attempt to poison himself already and didn't see why I'd bother, if that hadn't worked.

"Garp has a certain fondness for strays and I know how to follow the rules." He must have sensed that was all I was going to say on the subject.

He sipped the tea, finally. "So what do I call you?"

I told him the name I went by, here.

His lip quirked.

"Oh, stop. It's not that bad."

He didn't answer.

A breeze came up over the hill. It carried scents from inland--of grass, cedar, and damp wool. It usually did. The weather patterns surrounding the island were reasonably consistent for the Grand Line. That's what elevated the position of this island to "mildly useful," in the eyes of the World Government--stable winds meant trade, and trade meant keeping someone on the ground to see who or what blew through.

I hadn't expected Roronoa Zoro. I wondered if anyone had. Ever.

"Do you really have the authority to arrest me, without blowing your cover?"

Ah, so he had figured it out. "Yes."

"Huh." He ran his fingers one-two-three over the swords settled at his side.

My hand went to my side, reflexively, but closed around air only. The governor only wore a sword to dinner and he was the sort who took it off after, for the dancing; he didn't see how anyone could be expected to move with grace with something like that strapped to one's side.

"I guess I'm under arrest, then. You can call the Marines back in."

"Oh," I said. "I doubt they'd come."

"Probably not." He grinned.

I wanted to answer that smile, with its taunting promise of violence. I twirled the teacup round in the saucer instead, pinky through the handle. "I had to call this in. I couldn't be expected to take down a member of the straw-hat crew all by myself." Lucci had taught me that poking at the sore spots made one stronger. "Or with the assistance of the three Marine battleships stationed here, with full contingents of soldiers."

"Three?" Zoro frowned. "I only saw--"

I allowed myself a small smile, at that. "You saw the last of them headed out to sea, before you stumbled into that pub last night. Did you really think you weren't noticed, Roronoa? I've ordered every sea-worthy vessel off the island. You'll leave here with a Marine escort to Impel Down or not at all. I may be _somewhat less_ than I was but I still have my duty."

"The whole 'arrested' thing comes with three square and a dry place to sleep, right?"

"Yes." This was a kinder, gentler government.

"And even you can't stop the newspaper. That's big news, my capture."

He was right. The threat of CP9 didn't carry the weight it once had. Doubtlessly some poor albatross was winging its way over the waves, already. I didn't say that, but silence was an answer too.

Roronoa stretched, put his feet up on the table. "I could go for some breakfast, then, if you're done arresting me."

It was my turn to frown.

A servant hovered on the edge of the patio, bearing a message card on a platter. His name was Ignacio. He had a wife; two children, one in school, one not yet school-aged. I knew he was loyal enough to be trusted in the house while I slept, and if that changed, I knew his family's routine: I knew where each one of them was right at that very moment. The governor didn't even know the man's name.

I waved him over. The note said someone would be by to deal with the nuisance in two days--the note actually said _someone_ , as though I weren't important enough even to be told the government's plans. I bit back my anger.

"How long?" Zoro asked.

I let a small measure of that anger slip the leash. "What do you care? You have nowhere to go. Your captain is dead."

He was silent for awhile, gazing out over the countryside--not long enough for me to feel bad about what I'd said. It was true. The papers said it. My sources agreed.

"I guess it doesn't matter. I get stuck on islands a lot. I think it's sort of a thing, you know?" He shrugged. "This one isn't so bad, comparatively."

"I should take your swords." I said.

"You could try." He said, as easily as though it were a comment on the weather.

He had the courtesy to look away, again. I don't know what he would have seen on my face, had he cared to look. I was an agent, I reminded myself. I had my duty.

The servant coughed.

"Breakfast." I snapped. "For two."

Ignacio nodded and slunk away back towards the kitchens.

"Inviting yourself?" Roronoa asked.

"I have other matters to attend to," I said, "but I thought you might be hungry enough for both of us."

I left him there on the patio with those damn swords and locked myself in the governor's study. I told myself I was not sulking. 

I busied myself in paperwork for the afternoon. In any life, there was always that.

The noise from the waterfront picked up again, slowly, as sailors took up whatever was at hand. The port was closed to traffic, but that was not entirely unusual. Even on the Grand Line, plague could seal off an island for a time. People found ways to keep busy.

I looked up from a quarterly summary of grain reports. The study overlooked the patio and I could feel Roronoa there. He'd turned, at last.

I waited awhile still, so he wouldn't think I came when he called.

The little table was stacked high with plates when I finally came down. Ignacio hovered near the balcony door; as I came through he hurriedly said, "Master never said what--"

I ignored him, took my seat across from Roronoa again. "Have you spent all day terrorizing the servants?"

"I was hungry."

That was a yes, I figured. "You could have at least gone inside."

"I thought I was under arrest?"

I didn't dignify that with an answer and we sat awhile longer there in silence. The sun set. I'm sure it was lovely.

Roronoa started to snore, lightly.

I sighed. I'd tell the servants to make him up a bed somewhere distant from the main part of the house. If I tried to put him in the garrison, I'd have a mutiny on my hands. It was a pity the governor's manor didn't have a dungeon. I wondered, idly, if I could have one put in.

Then Roronoa asked, "Did I do that?"

He didn't open his eyes--didn't move, other than his lips to form the words. 

"No," I said, softly. I'd dropped the damn tower myself, and Spandam had made the Buster Call. I knew that--I just wanted someone to be angry with, and there he was. I thought of the latticework of scars which _were_ his work, and which still pulled and stretched when I practiced. I thought of the pain, and the months of rehab. None of that seemed anything, in comparison.

There wasn't much use for one-handed swordsmen.

"Shanks seems to manage."

I snorted. "I don't need your pity."

There was enough moonlight to catch his teeth as he smiled. His eyes were open, now. "You don't have it," he whispered.

Oh. So that's where this was headed.

Interesting, although perhaps not surprising. There was still that tightness behind his eyes. His captain was dead. There was no telling what he would do.

I didn't think he'd kill me after, though. That was a plus over Lucci.

"You smell awful." I said.

He ran his tongue over his teeth. "You can't blame a man for drinking in these circumstances."

"No. I suppose not."

He tasted a little like waffles and a little like eggs Benedict and a little... not. I didn't think about it. I was too busy working my hands under that stupid haramaki.

He pushed me back, both hands against my shoulders. "Here?" Said like he didn't really care what my answer was but someone had taught him that he had to ask.

"Inside." I said. This was compromising enough already without broadcasting it to the neighbors.

He followed me in and up the staircase to the master suite. The itch was stronger, this time. All that intensity pointing my way. I opened the door. The maid turning down the bed stopped and scurried away towards the back stairs. Linda.

"Will they talk?" He asked curiously. His breath stuttered against my cheek and I licked at his lip until he stopped talking.

"The governor is known to be a man of strange proclivities."

"Hn."

He smelled like violence and blood and a whole host of things I wasn't allowed to want, anymore. He smelled a little like a bar bathroom, too, but that was easy enough to ignore. It had been a _long_ time.

I nudged the door shut behind us. The master suite was nice in a provincial sort of way. It was the nicest place I'd ever been able to call my own, in any sense, but it wasn't the nicest place I'd ever killed anyone. Roronoa's hands digging into my hips brought back memories. Some of them were even pleasant.

Roronoa stepped back and slid each of his blades an inch out then back into the sheath so they rested easily.

He must have heard my breath catch. That damn smirk was back.

"Bath first." I said.

He lifted the swords away from his body, telegraphing the move so big I could have seen it from the other side of the manor, but instinct still rocked me back on my heels, ready.

"Didn't think you were so fussy." He muttered. "But fine. As long as you don't pull any freaky giraffe shit. Fair?"

I pointed him towards the ensuite bath. It was spacious, but not spacious enough for two killers. "Fair."

I turned and left and I sat on the edge of the bed and tried desperately not to think of all the ways in which this was a terrible idea. I listened to the splash of water, instead. Two days. I wondered who they would send for him--I wondered who was strong enough to take him down these days, even without making geography a consideration. I wondered how I could get a piece of the action. The water stopped.

Roronoa stepped out of the bathroom. He hadn't bothered to dress. Just the three katana, and him. With the light behind him, there was just his outline--tall, strong, and for tonight, at least, mine. 

I stood and went to him, tugging off layer after layer of fabric; the governor loved his clothes. My fingers fumbled at a button. For a moment longer habit kept me careful, then I thought-- _fuck it. For once, I have nothing to hide._ I pulled until the damn shirt tore.

He looked me up and down, and again.

I knew what I looked like. An agent couldn't start lying to himself. I didn't have the grace I'd had before. I'd lost condition, some muscle mass; the scars weren't pretty. And there was the hand to consider, of course.

But Roronoa didn't look much better, truth be told. That scar across his chest was only one of many. A different eye might have called him ugly--an eye which could look at him and not see what that body could do. Not mine. I looked at him and I saw danger and violence and death--maybe my own. It was in the way he carried his shoulders, in the cant of his hips as he turned towards me. I knew him, knew what he could do, and I wanted him.

There was a deep bruise over his right hip twice the size of my fist. The discoloration reached up over his ribs. I wondered if there had been internal damage. It was yellowing, now; a week old, maybe ten days. I wanted to ask what had happened, but I'd already swallowed my pride once. I wouldn't do it again. Let HQ get it out of him or let the secret rot with him in Impel Down. I didn't care.

"You just going to look?" I asked, dropping the governor's cultivated vowels. I felt like myself again, whoever that was.

"No," he said simply, and then we were kissing again.

I dragged my hand down the flat plane of his chest and felt the ridges and dips of his scars roll with the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. They bobbed like whitecaps on the waves in the open ocean.

He balanced the katana against the night stand, keeping them within easy reach. It was flattering, really, that he still saw me as a threat. He wasn't wrong, of course--I might not have my swords at hand, but I'd kept up my Rokushiki. I thought of all the ways I could kill him with just these five fingers and smiled instead, grabbing at his hip--the unbruised one. 

There was a period of negotiation, after that, managed with bodies instead of words. I pushed; he pushed back.

I knew a dozen ways this could end well, but next to nothing about him. I wasn't sure what give would offense to a man from one of the Blues. People had strange notions, sometimes, of what made a man weak--and while I wouldn't exactly mind giving offense, I wanted to get laid more.

I decided to lead by example and dropped to my knees. He smelled better, like soap and man and the leading edge of sweat. I kept my balance on the balls of my feet and licked a stripe up his thigh, just in case he hadn't gotten the idea, yet. One could never be too careful. As if any of this could be described as _careful_.

He gave a little laugh. "I should get arrested more often."

I trailed a finger across the patch of damp skin. "This is a limited time offer." I said. "And I fully expect you to reciprocate."

"If that means I do you next--then yeah, let's do that."

It was a good answer. I took him down entire.

He grunted and cupped the back of my skull with one hand, then thought better of it and dropped his hand back to his side. Wise choice. 

I let my hand roam over his legs, the quivering muscle in his ass. Lovely ass. He slid his legs a little further apart, as easy as breathing. Was that an invitation? I would have smiled, but my lips were already wide around his cock. I hummed around him, instead. 

Pulling back, I licked at my lips and said, "There's lube in the second drawer, if you want."

He made a thoughtful little noise. I busied my tongue on the underside of his cock while I waited for his answer. Finally, he said, "Fuck it," in a rough stuttering voice like he was the one whose throat burned. "On the bed. Get the lube."

I grinned. He climbed on the bed on all fours and patted the space beside him like maybe I had forgotten how beds worked.

I felt stupid enough for it, almost. The sight of him there like that, naked and gleaming damp from the shower still, cock heavy between his parted thighs, did strange things to my stomach. 

I laid down beside him, after a brief detour to snag the bottle from the second drawer. My hand brushed his katana and he looked at me curiously over his shoulder. He licked his lips. Interesting, but not what I was after. Most of the men I'd been with had been marks. Their pleasure had been useful only as a lowering of their guard, and mine hadn't been useful at all.

I ran my knuckles down the length of his spine, teasingly, before giving him one finger and then, shortly, a second. He was warm and slick and I felt a perverse sort of triumphant to have finally found some part of him I could call _soft_. I pulled out to reach for more lube. The glass was slick, but I managed. He followed my hand, growling low.

"That's enough." He insisted. I didn't care to disagree, just lined up and rocked into him. There wasn't much call for gentleness, here. 

And he took it, just rocked back and took it, and it had been far, _far_ too long. I leaned with him, into him. What had been an awkward series of starts flowed into a swift give and take, a back-and-forth of bodies punctuated now and again by a sharp intake of breath--the wind upwards towards orgasm. Such a simple thing. It was a dance without swords. Most people would call that just a dance, maybe, but we were swordsmen and without steel something was always missing.

I came with a thoroughly undignified whimper and stared wide-eyed at the ripple of muscles and scars across his back. 

"Well, fuck." Roronoa said, in a wondrous, dazed tone. He must have come, too, because he didn't object when I pulled out.

I collapsed on the bed, once I could think enough to move. He rolled, too, putting a safe distance between us. The governor's bed was big enough.

Sweat pooled between my shoulder blades. I ran a hand through my hair. The governor would have liked it longer, to have something to style--curls were in fashion, this season--but I didn't like the thought of having it long enough to grab.

A tremulous snore rose from the other side of the bed. For fuck's sake, seriously? _This_ was the man who would make himself the greatest swordsman? _This_ was the man who'd defeated me?

This wasn't a job, I reminded myself. I didn't have to play nice.

"You know," I said, "giraffes are renowned for their flexible tongues. Eighteen inches long. They can twirl them all the way around and pick leaves off a branch."

That got him. "You said you wouldn't--you didn't--" He turned just about as green as his hair.

I hadn't, of course. I'd said I wouldn't. My honor was malleable, but it wasn't so soft as that. I laughed at him. It wasn't a nice laugh. 

He crossed his arms.

"Stay in this wing." I told him. "I don't want you near the servants."

His expression was priceless. Doubtlessly, he considered me a greater danger to their safety than himself. 

"There's a suite three doors down on the right. It's made up for guests. That'll keep two doors between us." Fifty feet, roughly. That might be enough for a cat nap. It had been awhile since I'd slept with one eye open, but it wasn't the sort of skill you forgot.

He looked as though he knew exactly what I was thinking. He hooked his pants with the point of a sheathed katana, lifted them, and bunched them in his other hand. "If that's what you need to feel _safe_."

He left.

I didn't sleep. Let him think it was because I was afraid.

The paper was laid out on the table in the breakfast room when I came downstairs the next morning. _Roronoa Zoro alive on Strappock Island!_ read the breathless headline. I turned it face down and sipped at my tea.

I was used to a full night's sleep, these days, and I'd expected to feel worn and slow--instead I felt alive, rejuvenated. Roronoa's presence, skating like a shadow or a cat unseen through the manor, tickled at my swordsman's senses and woke some part of myself I had sought to bury under this guise in the name of duty. He padded down the stairs and joined me at the breakfast table.

I shoved a plate of biscuits across the table towards him and stared as he ate them one after another. He reached for the paper once he had stuffed the last biscuit in his mouth, turned up the corner to read the headline, and smirked.

I wasn't entirely surprised when the runner from the harbor came dashing up the drive to notify the governor, wheezing, that an unknown vessel flying the straw-hats' flag had come barreling over the horizon with the morning tide and was coming on full-speed into harbor.

They'd come up from the south, the runner said. I winced, thinking of the two Marine battleships I'd sent out in that direction the day before. They were likely resting at the bottom of the sea, now, and I did not relish the explanations and the letters to Mariejoy this mess was going to require.

"You didn't really think I would be here if Luffy was dead, did you?" Roronoa snorted as though the very thought of it were too ridiculous for words.

I knew a thing or two about losing one's purpose and the strange and unexpected places that shipwrecked you, but he wasn't really asking for my opinion on the matter. I wondered, a little--with a cold, purely professional interest--what that loss was he held tucked away behind his eyes, if it wasn't his captain. But that wasn't the sort of question you asked a man in the light of day.

And besides, there was no one left to ask--Roronoa had excused himself through the open window.

I caught up with him on the gravel walk. He wore a smug, self-satisfied expression, as though we were children and he had cheated me out of my candy. 

"There was a fight." He said by way of explanation--as though there wasn't always a fight, within a twenty mile radius of that damned crew. "Lost another ship. Got separated. I wound up here, and I figured it was easier to get my name in the papers than to try to find them all alone. Luffy doesn't read them, but Sanji would."

He frowned. "Although I'm sure Nami will have a thing or two to say about collecting my bounty first. You didn't actually give that man any money, did you?"

It took me a moment to realize he meant the barkeep on the wharf. "No," I snorted. "Of course not." 

"I guess we can just go, then. Thanks."

I wasn't thinking _You're welcome._ I stepped out onto the harbor path, putting myself between him and his crew.

"I don't have a reason to kill you." He made it sound like _give me a reason_.

I wanted to. They let me kill when it was convenient--like letting the dog out to run, every so often, so he didn't turn and bite the hand holding the leash. But those were safe kills--the kind of soft people a guise like this bought access to--and it had never been the killing I'd liked. Just the danger. The rush of knowing that life and death rested on the narrow edge of a sword and that it could fall either way.

Oh, how I wanted to give him a reason.

I had duty instead of reasons, though, so I only smiled at him and swept my arms wide. It looked like acquiescence. It looked like that final flick of the katana which had left that last splatter of blood on his shirt.

They were going to leave me here to rot. Here, or some other island just like it. I knew that. I thought I'd accepted it.

Luffy came bounding over the rise, then--literally--and I might not be a coward but I'm not an idiot either: retreat was the only option. I turned back towards the house before he could get a good enough look to recognize me. My sources said Luffy wasn't the sort to hold a grudge, but those same sources had also said he was dead, so clearly my intel had some flaws when it came to the straw-hat crew.

"The world is changing." Roronoa Zoro called after me.

"Not that much." I answered him, taking the steps back up to the house in a sedate manner befitting the appointed governor of this island.


End file.
